Today is my first-born's birthday. At about this time, 27 years ago, a midwife dragged her out with forceps and life was never the same again. I sent her a text this morning first thing, and waited all day for a reply. Couldn't concentrate on my work. Told the factory manager about it, and we chatted about his two daughters, son and five grandchildren. One of his daughters has just written off to audition for X-Factor 2012. That cheered me up.
Eventually, at about six pm, she called. It seems that the book I sent, Nancy Mitford's classic, "The Pursuit of Love" is her favourite of all the presents I sent. Hey! Yey!